King Ivar spends much of his time with his infertile first wife: neglecting his second wife, the mother of his children, a Freyjasdottir. Eventually, it catches up to him when a foreign King Sverri invades his lands.
tw: abuse, character death, etc.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ivar's favourite part of knocking you up was watching you grow. The sickness of nausea and vomiting did nothing of pleasure for him, but to see your stomach fill out? It wasn't only sweet, it was arousing to see how you grew. Especially for a man once tortured by his brother.
Aslaug and this new child would be a year apart. He watches you follow after him overseeing the reconstruction of walls and watch towers being built around flourishing Kattegat. The increase in land brought more people to Kattegat. Also, he is sure, more threats. He needed Hvitserk to go oversee his new lands. Ubbe– despite all their differences, commanded an army in Sverri's lands. The Ragnarssons were controlling lands far and wide. The threat was imminent. He had to be sure to keep a hold on things here before setting out to squash any signs of rebellion.
"Why did you go to the blacksmith?" Ivar asks as you all stop in front of a tower. You set Aslaug down in front of you, holding her tiny hands to keep her upright. The chubby little girl was beginning to have the ache to walk. His little girl. Ivar turns to pet her hair.
"To fashion a chantelaine for Ragnhild." You say, getting the lightest of grunts from your husband. To the side, Hvitserk shoveled a bit of sand and tossed it at Ragnhild. She made a long squeak of annoyance and dug up sand, tossing it at him. Not noticing that it had a rock of course, knocking him in his ass. Hvitserk! She squealed in apology, babying him like he was a child when he slipped down a ditch. A lone grin glides up the side of Ivar's lips.
"He's proposed?" He asks.
You guide Aslaug to walk around her father. "No." You stop short of his back, round belly nudging against his backside. He suppresses a groan. "But he will."
He doesn't dare doubt you. Besides, he's far more interested in willing his erection down before he feels the need to push you against the half constructed tower and take you himself. Ivar bothers himself with picking up his daughter and limping off in another direction. She had really become her daddie's girl through no fault of her own. Ivar was in love.
Ragnhild was shy.
That wasn't like anything he was used to for a long time. Sure, Margrethe was similar... but not so innocent. She was newly free and could spread her wings, but she stayed close to family. Maybe it was the stability the thirty something year old needed. They had known each other years. Years of fussing over (Y/N)'s marital life and the children that were like their own. Never stopping to realize... anything about the other. Now, she was acting like a thrall. Pouring his ale, fussing over his braids.
"I'll see you in the morning." Ragnhild says, picking up the deep luscious skirts of a dress you had made for your daughter figure. He was pretty well drunk but he was used to that.
"Ragnhild." He all but barks out, grasping her elbow. An action that for any normal, free woman would have been dishonorable. But there was no one but you to look after Ragnhild. You wouldn't cut off his dick.
Well, maybe. But this was not the case to. Her eyes flicker back to him, a light hazelnut. Why? They seem to ask.
"I want you to... to be my bride." He slurs. His hand falls over his face, grimacing at the sound of that. It wasn't like they hadn't been seeing each other in the forest, fucking her full of his seed despite you not knowing a thing about that. He'd sure be in trouble then. He had better put a ring on it now. His hand swirls about her back to her ass, guiding her closer to sit on his lap. Ragnhild sets her pale hands to his shoulders.
"I think you're drunk." She laughs, bopping his arm.
"Maybe a little." He admits. "But I know what I want."
Hvitserk slips his hand into his pocket, finding the ring in question. One he took from a princess on a raid some time ago with gold and garnet, interlocked rings throughout the band.
"Are you so sure about this?" Ragnhild asks while Hvitserk guides the ring onto her finger.
"I'm leaving for Faksi's lands soon. Besides, if you hate me later you can always divorce me." He laughs, assuming that she had no complaints. Women were in short supply. One that took care of his drunken ass? Less so. Ragnhild sets her hand to her stomach as if she was unsure of something. As if she was battling with the right words and— and suddenly it hit him.
"Ragnhild? Are you... pregnant?" He bends his head down to her stomach. He could have laughed when she nods in a slow motion. Well... now he had to marry her! A part of him was still terrified that you would lop off his dick. After all, you did gut Sverri.
While the walls were being reconstructed from Sverri's ambush, you felt a bitter confusion set over you. It did not make sense– none of it. The way Sverri occupied Kattegat, why he would do such a thing when he could have any other woman he wanted. Not that you wanted him to have another... but it would have been easier than losing him. Some days were better than others. Some days you could banish his shocking green eyes and last words he gave you in no more than a choked whisper.
At least it was you.
What were you to do with that? At least you carried the burden of executing Sverri on your conscious? You rolled onto your side, eyes fluttering closed underneath the blankets and you would stroke your round belly. Sleep wasn't working. Your eyes slide open and instantaneously a shadowy black figure kneels on your side of the bed. Sharp bright green eyes strike the breath out of you, combined with the sweet smile you knew and loved. You inhaled sharply, scooting to the waiting arms of your husband who was apparently snapped awake long enough to yank you into his arms as you broke down in chalked out sobs.
"Ssshhh." Ivar places his hand behind your head, willing down each of your shocking screams down. Aslaug would shift in her bassinet just as you cry out to him.
"Sv–Sverri my love! He's haunting me!" You sob out.
Ivar's fingers curl through your hair, holding you pressed against his chest. You were hysterical– and he knows why. What a great burden it would be to kill a lover for a greater good. Ivar's hand cups behind your head as he allows you to weep.
"He is on his way to Valhalla, (Y/N). You will miss him and never see him again. Look." Ivar corrects you, glancing up to the shadowy figure that still resides by the bed. He says nothing, green eyes gazing off. He turns you on your side, looking out to the figure with a light peppered beard and freckles over his wrinkled nose. You weren't ready to see him again, and yet, Ivar tells you it will be the last time.
It looks like Sverri. The same even expression, braids set just as you had set them before his burning months ago. He must have been lingering in Kattegat for some time despite the call to go to Valhalla. It was time now. You reach out tentatively.
"I have a feeling I will never see you again, my love. I will miss you.. But... your family waits for you in Valhalla. This is goodbye."
Somehow, as the figure shifts to black feathers through your room, you knew he would miss you too.
